Five Little Girls in White
by dnachemlia
Summary: Sam and Dean investigate strange disappearances in a small Appalachian town. Dean disappears during the hunt, and the brothers receive some help from an unexpected source.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: The characters of Sam and Dean Winchester and the TV show Supernatural are the creations Kripke and Co.

Don't own anything, just playing, yada yada.

First attempt at this SPN fanfic thing. Let me know if I should continue.

References to _A Very Supernatural Christmas_ and _Houses of the Holy_. Takes place (for the most part) between 3.08 and 3.09

* * *

**Prologue**

_December 31, 2005_

"Bethany!" Nancy Miller called to her daughter. "Time for bed."

"But MOM!" Bethany pleaded, springing up from her spot on the well-worn sofa. "I want to see the New Year come in. Just let me stay. _Please_? Last year you said--." She turned to her mother with her most winsome expression.

"No. It's already past your bedtime. You know how cranky you get when you don't get your beauty sleep," Nancy replied, trying to keep her tone as even as possible. _Last year_. She really didn't want to think about that.

"I won't be cranky, I _promise_!"

"You're right, because you're going to bed. Now." She let Bethany see her "_I'm not kidding_" look and the girl's face fell.

"Aw, Mom…"

"No arguments." Bethany gave a histrionic sigh and tried to march past her mother. Nancy caught her arm and gently pulled her into a hug before leaning down and kissing her forehead. Bethany looked up at her mother with a mulish expression which quickly softened under her mother's gaze.

"Tell you what. Tomorrow, we can get up early, we'll have a big breakfast, and then we can go out to the park and take the trail out to see the Ice Falls. You can wear the new scarf set Grandma sent you for Christmas. I'll fix a big thermos of hot chocolate and even pack some of your favorite cookies. We'll have a picnic out by the Falls. How's that sound?"

Bethany smiled, her beryl-blue eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears.

"Sounds great, Momma. Thanks."

"Good night, sweetheart."

"G'night, Momma." She gave her mother one final squeeze and headed up the stairs.

* * *

"_Bethany…"_

"Wha--?" Bethany blearily sat up in bed and looked around, wondering what had awoken her.

"Momma?" She listened intently, certain she had heard her mother calling. She looked at the clock on her bedside table: 11:57. She grinned. _Alright!_ Her mother was going to let her ring in the New Year after all. She had eagerly tossed back the covers, ready to run downstairs, when she heard the voice again.

"_Bethany…"_ Louder.

She froze. The voice sounded sad, almost desperate. Was her mother sick?

"Momma, what's wrong?"

No answer. Worried, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and took a couple of steps toward the bedroom door. It took a moment for her to register that something was amiss. _It's really cold in here_. She paused and turned. Her window was open.

_How did that happen?_ Maybe _that's_ why her mother was calling.

With a disgusted sigh, she changed direction and walked to the opposite side of the room, shivering as a cold gust of wind hit her. She tried to pull the window sash closed but it wouldn't budge. She tried harder, grunting with effort. _I can't fix this. I better get--._ She heard the voice again.

_Bethany…_

She felt a twist of fear in the pit of her stomach when she realized the voice had changed. It no longer sounded like her mother, and worse, it was coming from _outside_. Suddenly, a dark shape flitted past the edge of her vision. She turned to run for the door when something clamped over her mouth, silencing her screams and plunging her into darkness.

* * *

Nancy Miller woke with a start. She waited for a repeat of the noise that had roused her from her restless slumber, but the house was silent. She sat up on the sofa and squinted at the clock above the fireplace: 11:59. She watched as the minute hand ticked over to midnight and sighed. 

_Happy Freaking New Year_. _Hope it's better than the last, because it sure as Hell couldn't get much worse. _ She sat up and rubbed her eyes, trying to rub away the sudden stinging as old memories surged forward.

_Happy Anniversary, Michael_.

She stood up, went to the fireplace, and picked up a framed photograph. The stinging in her eyes intensified as the tears started to roll down her cheeks.

_Stop it. It's not going to bring him back_.

Disgusted with herself, she wiped the sleeve of her robe across her face and carefully placed the picture back on the mantle. She picked up a second picture and stared at the smiling face of her daughter. The similarities between the two were heartbreaking. She sighed. _Worry about what you have now. Hang on to that. For him_. She wiped the frame with the hem of her robe before returning the picture to its place. She took several deep breaths, composing herself. It wouldn't do to let Bethany see her like this. After several minutes, she took one more deep, calming breath, switched off the living room light, and headed upstairs to check on her daughter.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she stopped, puzzled.

_Why is it so cold up here?_

As she walked down the hall to Bethany's room, the cold intensified.

_What the Hell? _She was shivering by the time she reached the end of the hall.

"Bethany?"

She pushed the bedroom door open and stopped, frozen in horror as she stared at the empty room. Slowly, her gaze turned toward the open widow, its curtains snapping in the cold night air. The scream of terror that had been building since she opened the door finally ripped from her throat.

"_BETHANY!"_

* * *

**Part 1**

_January 8, 2008_

"I think I found something."

Dean shut the door, set the coffee cups he had been carrying on the small, battered table and sank into the chair opposite his brother. Sam was hunched over his laptop, an expression of intense concentration on his face.

"What is it?" Dean removed the lid from his cup and took a sip, grimacing at the bitter taste. Sam quickly glanced at his brother before returning his gaze to the screen.

"Over the past 10 years, 5 girls have vanished in the town of Mossy Oak, West Virginia."

"Mossy Oak? You're kidding, right?"

Sam gave him a puzzled look. "No, why?"

"Never mind. What else?"

"It happens about every two years, late December or early January. The girls are fine when they're sent to bed, but in the morning they're gone. No trace was ever found."

"So we're looking for something that's snatching kids in the middle of the night?"

"Yeah. Could be any number of things: vengeful spirit, vampire, demon…"

"Snallygaster?" Sam's face twisted in annoyance.

"Dean, you know perfectly well there's no such thing as--," Sam caught his brother's subtle smirk. "--snallygasters."

"Says the guy who still believes in unicorns," said Dean with a grin. Sam shook his head and turned his attention back to the laptop screen. Dean's expression immediately sobered.

"What's the 'official' explanation?"

"They ran away."

"Ran away? In the middle of the freaking winter? Oh yeah, that makes a _whole_ lot of sense."

"Tell me about it. Sounds like the cops think the girls just climbed out the window and ran off." Sam snorted in disgust. "I checked the dates to see if there was a pattern. This is what I found: Bethany Miller, December 31, 2005; Krista Wallace, December 23, 2003; Liesel Schneider, January 13, 2002; Mia Lawson, January 6, 2000; Elizabeth Martin, December 29, 1997. Notice anything unusual?"

"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"I'll give you a hint: one of things I checked was the lunar calendar."

"Let me guess: full moon?"

"Nope, but the right idea. These disappearances all occurred on the night of the _new_ moon. Not only that, but on the first new moon after the winter solstice."

"Huh. Some sort of ritual or sacrifice?'

"Maybe." Dean groaned.

"Great. Just what we need, another bloodthirsty pagan God." Sam shrugged.

"Maybe not. The two-year gap is a bit weird. Most deities seem to prefer the annual offering."

"Whatever. Sounds like our type of gig, though." Dean paused, playing the information over in his mind. "So the last one was a little over two years ago, and I'm guessing we're getting close to another post-solstice new moon."

"Yeah. It's tonight."

"Wonderful. I love pressure. I eat it for breakfast." He glanced up expectantly, but Sam didn't seem to have caught the reference. _Kid's hopeless_. "How far out are we?"

Sam checked the map. "About 3 hours."

"Doesn't leave us much time. Let's get a move on, Sammy."

* * *

**A/N**: "Mossy Oak" is a camo pattern, which explains Dean's amusement at the name. It is also an actual town in WV, but I'm using the name only.

A snallygaster is a mythical dragon-like creature which supposedly hunts in the foothills of west-central Maryland. It preys on small children.

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	2. Chapter 2

Well, it looks like a couple of people are interested, so here's another chapter.

Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing, yadda yadda

Part 2

_Born Down in a Dead Man's Town_

"We might have to reconsider this whole 'ran away' idea."

Startled, Sam looked up from the laptop and turned to his brother. Dean had guided the Impala to a stop at the main intersection of Mossy Oak and was staring out the driver's side window.

"Why?"

"If I lived here, I'd want to run away, too."

Sam turned his attention to the scene outside the Impala's windows. The town reminded him of countless others they had visited in the poorer areas of the country. The intersection of two main roads served as the center of town, moldering brick buildings and Victorian-style houses lined the two streets, and many of the shops had boarded up windows with fading "FOR LEASE" signs taped to the doors. While most of the houses, in varying shades of dirty white, moss green and slate grey, remained in respectable condition, several were verging on decrepit. Their peeling paint and sagging eves spoke of weariness, neglect, and residents who no longer had the propensity or will to give a damn. The town itself, if such a thing was possible, appeared to be in mourning.

In the center of the intersection was a small town common, dominated by a massive, gnarled oak tree, its' upper branches dark against the grey winter sky. Sam winced at the memory it evoked and quickly looked away, resisting the urge to rub the scar at his back.

A few small groups of people were gathered near various store fronts and at the edge of the common, huddled against the cold and deep in conversation. The closest group turned toward to low rumble of the Impala's engine, their faces creased with mild suspicion and hopelessness.

"Charming," muttered Sam. "Well, we've seen worse," he said in a clearer voice and turned back to Dean.

"Yeah, but I wasn't inclined to stay in those places, either," Dean replied. "Where to first?"

"I figured we'd start with the most recent victim and work our way back. Bethany Miller lived with her mother, Nancy, at 1525 Elm Street."

"Oh, now I know you're kidding me." Sam smirked.

"Nope. All the streets are named after trees."

"Huh. I see the founding father were oh-so creative. How far?" Sam checked his notes. "About half a mile, I guess. Turn right, and make the second left. Looks like the street dead ends and it's the last house."

"On the left?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?" Sam asked, puzzled. Dean shook his head.

"Never mind, Geek Boy. You really need to watch something besides National Geographic. And porn."

Sam shot his brother a dirty look. Dean grinned and turned the Impala in the direction Sam had instructed, while Sam leaned back and closed his eyes. He had played the part of the annoyed little brother, but the truth was he was happy to have Dean acting more like his old self: the gentle teasing and smart-ass remarks were a nice change from the biting comments and thinly veiled anger that had been Dean's M.O. for the past few months, ever since he had made that damn deal. Sam's plea to have Dean act like his brother again seemed to have worked, at least until the next time Dean decided to go 'ninja' to cover up his terror at his impending fate. Sam hoped that he could keep his word to Dean that he would get him out of it, but as the year slipped away he was becoming more and more frustrated after turning up dead end upon dead end. He thought he was putting up a good front: Dean didn't seem to suspect what he was doing and therefore wasn't trying to stop him, but Sam himself was feeling the strain of the façade.

He was going over his options for his next line of inquiry when he felt the Impala roll to a stop.

"Wake up, Princess. We're here."

Sam opened his eyes and took his first look at the Miller house. The simple, two story white clapboard structure had a covered porch (listing slightly to the right) across the front. The walkway to the house was intricately landscaped but bore the signs of several years of neglect. Behind the house a stand of pine trees stretched back towards the western horizon.

They exited the car, walked up to the house, and climbed the porch steps, which creaked audibly as they ascended. Dean rang the doorbell and stepped back, rubbing his hands against the cold as the brothers waited for someone to answer.

After a few minutes, the front door creaked open, revealing a short, stout woman with tightly curled iron-grey hair. Her hazel eyes met theirs and she addressed them with thinly veiled suspicion.

"Yes?"

Dean stepped forward and gave her one of his most sincere smiles.

"Nancy Miller?"

"No, I'm her mother, Henrietta Dobson. What do you want?" Dean briefly held up his ID and Sam followed suit.

"I'm Special Agent Steinhardt and this is Special Agent Walsh. We're looking into some older cases, and we'd like to speak with Mrs. Miller about her daughter's disappearance."

"Have you found her?" The woman's expression was suddenly apprehensive, as if she expected that the worst of her fears had come true. Sam stepped forward.

"No ma'am. We're just trying to get a little more information on the case. Is Mrs. Miller here? We'd really like to speak with her."

"Well," said Mrs. Dobson, "you can _try_. Come on in." She opened the door wider and moved aside. They stepped through the doorway and into a narrow hallway. She led them to the living room where another woman was seated on a well worn sofa facing the fireplace. She did not appear to notice their entrance.

"Nancy? These gentlemen are from the FBI. They'd like to talk to you about Bethany," said Mrs. Dobson in a gentle tone. Mrs. Miller remained silent and immobile. Sam walked around the sofa to face her, and when he caught sight of her face he had to struggle to conceal his shock. Mrs. Miller had at one time been an attractive woman, but the loss of her family had drastically affected her: her sunken cheeks, sallow skin, and thin, lank hair belonged to a woman twice her age. But her eyes…Her eyes were the worst. They were flat and dead, like those of a battered, abandoned doll.

"Bethany?" The woman's voice was fragile, almost child-like. "She's upstairs, asleep. She's was mad at me because I wouldn't let her stay up to ring in the New Year, but I'm going to make it up to her. We're going on a picnic tomorrow. Michael is even going to take off work so he can come, too." She smiled and lapsed back into silence, her gaze never wavering from the opposite wall. Sam followed her line of sight and saw two framed pictures on the mantle: one of a smiling strawberry-blonde girl with pigtails; the other of a much younger, healthier Mrs. Miller in a wedding dress and a thin-faced sandy-haired young man in a tuxedo. Sam turned back to Mrs. Miller, ready to try another question, but Dean caught his attention and with a quick jerk of his head guided Sam's gaze to Mrs. Dobson. She stared at him for a brief moment before turning and walking back down the hall, and Sam and Dean followed her back to the kitchen. Sam tried to stammer out an apology, but she raised her hand to silence him.

"I think it's best to leave her out of this. What do you need to know?"

It was Dean who spoke first, and his tone surprised Sam. His voice subdued, with none of the false confidence and charm he had used before.

"How long has she--?"

"Since that night. The neighbors heard a commotion and ran over here. They found her leaning out Bethany's window, screaming her name, and when they reached her she passed out. When she woke up, she was like that. She refuses to leave the house, says she's waiting for Bethany to get ready so they can go."

"And 'Michael'? Is that her husband?"

"Was. He died about a year before Bethany vanished. It was an accident at work, at the steel mill. He fell into the…into the furnace."

Sam felt his gorge rise. He took a couple of deep breaths before asking the next question.

"Do you remember anything…strange about that night?"

"Strange?"

"Strangers, sorry. Was anyone observed near the house around the time of her disappearance?"

"No. Nobody saw anything or anyone out of the ordinary. The sheriff checked out her room, said he couldn't find anything that didn't belong. Then again, I was always of the opinion that that man couldn't find his ass with both hands and a flashlight." She sighed. "But he did try. We all did. Finally most people decided she must have left on her own but it just doesn't make sense. Why would an eight-year old run away? And if she did, why didn't she take anything with her? Besides, she was a good kid, if a little headstrong, and she loved her mother. I just don't see her taking off like that…" Sam nodded, his face easily conveying the sympathy that he felt. How many times have they heard stories like this?

"Why would they think she ran away?" Dean asked, still sounding too subdued for Sam's liking.

Mrs. Dobson sighed. "I guess because they wish they could."

"Why?" She gave a mirthless chuckle.

"It's a dying town, son. People get out and find better when they can, and when they can't…well, then they try to forget why they want to." Sam cleared his throat and tried to steer the conversation back to the reason for their visit.

"There have been similar cases in the area. Are you familiar with--?"

"The other girls who went missing? Yeah, I've heard about it, but not the details. Most of them hadn't been here all that long. The rumor mill says they were snatched by their fathers. Some sort of custody battle thing."

"I see. Do you mind if we take a look around? Just to, you know, cover all of the bases?"

"Knock yourselves out. Bethany's room is upstairs, turn right, second door on the left. It's pretty much as it was. Nancy wouldn't let me change anything."

"I'll check outside," said Dean. "I'll meet you at the car." He thanked Mrs. Dobson and made a hasty exit. Sam sighed. He had a very good idea why Dean wanted to get out of the house.

Sam trudged up the stairs and stopped at the bedroom door. He briefly debated whether or not to pull out the EMF meter before pulling it from his coat pocket and opening the door. He figured that any traces would be long gone, but it wouldn't hurt to check. He stepped into the room and stopped sweeping the meter back and forth in front of him. Nothing. He walked over to the window, pushed it open, and leaned out to look. The slightly sloping roof of the back porch was right below him. He followed the slope to the edge and saw a large cedar tree butted up against the corner of the roof. A possible route for a runaway girl, but unlikely. As he pulled his head back in to window he noticed a strange mark on the window frame. He bent down to take a look, then pulled out his cell phone and snapped a picture. It might be nothing, but then again, it might not.

* * *

A/N: The chapter title is the first line of "Born in the USA", by Bruce Springstein

Steinhardt and Walsh are members of the band _Kansas_

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	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Don't own anything, just playing, yadda, yadda

Thanks to all who have shown an interest. Reviews are always appreciated.

* * *

Part 3

_Ashes, ashes, we all fall down_.

"Find anything?"

"Maybe."

Dean turned to his brother as Sam folded himself into the Impala and closed the door.

"'Maybe'? That's helpful." Dean caught Sam's expression and groaned inwardly. Captain Empathy was making an appearance.

"Dean, are you--?"

"I'm fine. What's the 'maybe'?"

Sam sighed, pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and handed it to Dean.

"I found that mark outside the girl's bedroom window. It seems familiar, but I can't place it." Dean stared at the small picture on the phone's screen.

"Never saw it before. You think whatever it is left it? A little 'Kilroy was here'?"

"Could be. I want to see if it was left at the other girls' houses." Sam quickly scanned his notes. "I guess our next stop is 1852 Maple Street. Melissa Wallace."

"How far?"

"This one is closer to the center of town. Actually, except for the Millers, all of the other residences are within a couple of blocks of each other."

"OK, then I got an idea. I'll drop you off and let you make the rounds while I head over to the town library and check out the local legends, see if there's anything we should be on the lookout for." _And my idea has nothing at all to do with the last interview. No, not at all._

"I don't think we should split--."

"Look, Sam, whatever it is, this thing is going to attack tonight. We can cover more ground this way. Besides, you're better at the interview thing than me."

"Dean…"

"C'mon, man. What kind of trouble can I get into at a library? I promise I won't do anything 'kamikaze'. Or even ninja." Sam glared at him for a moment before caving and responding with an exasperated snort.

"Fine. Go back out to the end of the street, turn left, and take the first left. It should be halfway down the block." Dean turned the Impala around and headed back toward the town.

"Here we are, 1852 Maple Street. Better watch out for monsters, eh Sammy?" Dean turned to Sam with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood. Sam gave him that _OK, random_ puzzled look again. Dean sighed. The kid really _was_ hopeless.

"Look, after I finish up I'll find us a place to stay. We passed a motel on the way into town, about two miles out. I'll sort out the gear and then we can meet up later at that diner I saw near the center of town."

"All right. Call me if you find anything, OK?" Sam opened the door and stepped out on to the street.

"Count on it." Sam leaned down and looked in the car at his brother.

"And Dean…watch yourself. We have no idea what we're dealing with here."

"Yes, Grandma." Sam slammed the door with a little more vigor than necessary and Dean winced. He knew his brother was worried, not just about the case, but also with all of the other crap they had to deal with lately. Dean worried too, but was also angered by the fact that there really wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. With a sigh, he headed to the library he had seen at the center of town.

The Mossy Oak Library-slash-Historical Society building was a sharp contrast to the surrounding storefronts and offices. The Gothic Revival design, complete with multiple arches and spires, was better suited to a church in the English countryside. Dean wondered briefly who had put up the cash to build such a thing before climbing the stone steps to the entrance.

The inside of the building was as grand as the outside, with high arched ceilings and leaded glass windows that cast the dim January light through, barely reaching the main floor. Reading tables with green glass-shaded lamps sat in front of the huge wooden bookcases lining the walls, and small brass signs marked the various sections. The place was quiet except for the click of the librarian's heels as she walked down a row towards him, pushing a large cart heavy with books in front of her. Dean caught her attention and she left her cart to make her way over to him, weaving through the maze of tables with unexpected grace.

"Yes? May I help you?" Her tone was clipped, professional, with an undercurrent of unease. Dean turned on the charm.

"Good afternoon, ma'am. I'm doing a little research on local history, folklore, and legends for an article I'm writing. Could you point me in the right direction?"

Her expression softened a bit and she gave him the once-over, a slightly predatory smile crossing her lips.

"Uh…_yes._ You're in luck today, as a matter of fact. One of our town's best resources for local lore is here." She pointed to a far corner. "I'm sure Mr. Bransen will be happy to help you."

Dean looked where she was pointing and saw an elderly man hunched over at one of the tables with his back to them, piles of books and bound newspapers stacked around him. "Follow me, I'll introduce you." She turned and strolled towards the old man, her hips swaying a bit more than necessary. When they reached the table, she tapped the man on the shoulder. He flinched slightly and turned to look up at her.

"Ah, hello Edith. Need something?" His voice was deep, gravelly, with the faintest trace of an accent. _Deep south, maybe Mississippi_, Dean thought.

"So sorry to bother you, Jed. This young man needs your help."

"That so?"

"Yes, he's working on an article on local history and folklore. I told him you're the expert around here."

"Be happy to help. Have a seat," he said to Dean, indicating the chair across from him.

"Thanks." He took a pen and notepad out of his pocket and lowered himself into the chair.

"You boys have fun," Edith chirped, dropping a wink at Dean before heading back to her cart. Dean smiled and nodded before turning his attention to Jed Bransen. The man was staring at him, a guarded look in his faded-blue eyes.

"So, you're a reporter?" His voice held the same caution as his expression.

"Yes, sir. My name is Tommy Shaw, and I work for the Huntington Gazette. I--." He paused when the man chuckled dryly.

"Sure, and I'm the Queen of Sheba. Don't even try to test my bullshit meter, boy." He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Edith was out of earshot. "You're a hunter." Dean froze, uncertain of what to say next. He decided to try and dismiss the question.

"A hunter? Nah, I'm not much into--."

"No, not _that_ kind of hunter. Ghosts, monsters, things that go bump in the night. Am I right?" Startled, Dean stared at the old man for a moment before replying.

"How did you--?"

"I've run into your type before. They come looking for info on local legends, usually with the cover of 'I'm working on a story', or 'paper' or some such thing. Y'all are not a real creative bunch." He snorted derisively and continued. "You're hunting whatever is snatching little girls from their homes at night, aren't you?"

"Yes. Do you--?"

"No, I have no idea. Same thing I told the last one who came through. Not that he did much good – poked around for a day and when he couldn't find something to kill, he left. Been several like him over the years. A couple asked for my help to try and find the girls, where they were buried. Not even a thank you before they blew out of town after something more interesting."

"Are you, uh, some sort of …psychic?" The old man chuckled again.

"No, I'm a dowser."

"Dowser? You mean like, finding water with sticks?"

"_Grave_ dowser. And the 'sticks' are brass divining rods. I concentrate on what I want to find and when I find it, the rods cross. I can even use them to find spirits."

"So it's kinda like an old school EMF?" Bransen laughed.

"Old school. Yep, that's me." Dean saw that the man had relaxed a bit, and decided to try again.

"So, there's nothing in the local lore than would explain what's happening? No disasters, sources of angry spirits, legends…?"

"No, nothing. No explanation, no cause, they just disappear." Bransen's face clouded. "Now why don't you do like your buddies and take off. Nothing to see here." He turned back to his book. Dean thought a minute before he spoke, carefully phrasing his response. He leaned in and lowered his voice, doing his best to convey his sincerity.

"You know, me and my brother, we've had some run-ins with other hunters. Some of them are…complete bastards, only in it for the killing. I'll agree with you there. But I'm not like that." Bransen looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Oh really? What makes you so different?"

"Because _I_ care. Saving people _by_ hunting things, that's what I do, what _we_ do. I don't want to see another little girl go missing…and I don't want to see another mother wind up like Nancy Miller. Do you?"

Bransen silently regarded Dean for several minutes. Dean held his gaze, hoping that the old man could be convinced. Finally, Bransen spoke.

"What's your name, son?"

"Dean. Dean Winchester." Bransen's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Sam's your brother?"

"Yeah…how--?"

"Ellen Harvelle. She told me about you boys, said you're decent. And to answer you next question, we're old friends. She was my student back when I was a history professor and before she decided to marry a hunter. We still keep in touch."

Dean was silent for a minute, trying to reconcile the image of Ellen in college with the woman he knew. He cleared his throat and shook his head, several questions passing through his mind before he settled on one to ask the old man.

"So…"

"I've heard a couple of stories, rumors, but nothing concrete."

"Dude, stop that, you're freaking me out!" Bransen laughed.

"Sorry. It's what I would have asked if I were you. Now, as for the stories: a couple of years after the first girl disappeared, another vanished. A few days later a group of teenagers thought they saw both little girls, dressed in white, standing at the edge of a field about 2 miles from here, just down the road from the motel. The kids recognized the girls from the missing posters and the news, but they said the first girl who disappeared, Elizabeth Martin, didn't really look any older. When they went back to get a closer look, they noticed that the girls were…flickering, like a TV with bad reception. One of the teenagers 'freaked out' and started screaming, and the girls just vanished into thin air. The kids told me, probably because I'm one of the few people in town that would have believed them. The next day I went out to check in the field, but I didn't find anything."

"You went looking for the graves?"

"Well, _that_…but also to see if I could get them to tell me what happened. The divining rods can also be used to communicate with spirits. But not there. Those spirits weren't talking."

"Any theory on why?"

"Could have been any number of things, but…listen. I've seen some strange things in my time, and I don't scare easy, but I got the sense of something…_evil_ out there."

"Demonic?"

"No, I wouldn't say that. It was just a feeling, like something was watching me the whole time I was there, and it wasn't happy that I was there, you know?"

"Yeah, I've had that feeling many times. Anything else?"

"That was the only sighting. Other people have claimed to hear things out there: crying, singing, but nothing more substantial. We still have no idea how the girls could have gone missing in the first place."

"Where is the field?" Bransen shot Dean a dark look.

"You're not thinking of going out there? I told you, there's nothing--."

"Just being thorough. Besides, I don't really have any other leads." Bransen nodded thoughtfully.

"I still don't think you'll find anything, but I guess it wouldn't hurt to look. The field is outside of town about a quarter mile past the motel. Back near the tree line you'll see what's left of the Dillon farm: a couple of decrepit barns and the chimney of the house. It burned down a couple of years ago. It was abandoned long before that, though."

"Thanks. Anything else I should know?"

"Just…well, if you boys are going to find this thing, you'd better hurry. I figured out the pattern of the disappearances, and it's--."

"The night of the first new moon after the winter solstice." The man met his eyes and, for the first time, smiled.

"You do know what you're doing, don't you? All right, get to it…and good luck." He held out his hand and Dean shook it, relieved at the old man's acceptance.

After checking into the motel and changing out of his suit, Dean loaded a duffel bag with supplies and headed down the road to the field. He decided it was safer and less likely to draw attention to his work in the field if he left the Impala parked at the motel. Besides, it was a short walk and he relished the chance to stretch his legs after being cooped up in the library. He thought about calling Sam, but decided he really wasn't in the mood for another lecture or pity session. He'd just meet up with Sam later to fill him in. This job probably wouldn't take that long.

When he reached the field, he made his way through the knee-high weeds to the tree line. He dug his EMF meter out of the bag and started to make a sweep of the barns and the charred remains of the house.

_Not a peep_.

He then walked the perimeter of the field before starting a survey of the interior. While he worked he noticed that the road had almost no traffic. No one stopped to ask him what he was doing, no one even slowed down to look. The field was unnaturally quiet. Even in winter he would have expected to hear some sort of birdsong, or the movement of animals in the underbrush.

_Creepy_.

Finally, after almost two hours of searching, he decided to call it quits. The sky overhead was getting darker as storm clouds gathered, and he really didn't want to be caught out in the snow. He headed back to the ruins to pick up his duffel, pulling out his cell phone as he trudged through the field.

He was just about to flip the phone open and call Sam when something slammed into him with enough force to knock the wind out of him and the cell phone from his hand. Before he could catch his balance he was hit again and knocked to the ground.

"_Son of a BITCH!_"

He tried to get up but a dark shadow fell over him and he was suddenly hit with pain so intense he couldn't move. When he was finally able to catch his breath he realized that he was wrapped in a cloying, roiling darkness and being dragged roughly along the ground, in what direction he couldn't tell. He kicked and struggled against the darkness that shrouded him, desperately trying to stop his progression, but the vegetation he could feel beneath his hands tore away from its roots with ease. Suddenly, the ground opened up beneath him and he felt himself falling, his screams muffled by the shadow that enveloped him. Soon his descent was brought to an abrupt halt, and his cries of terror were silenced when his head connected with something solid, sending him into a dark oblivion.

* * *

A/N:

"Killroy was here" is a classic form of American grafitti (no, not the movie) that originated during WWII. It's also the title of a Styx album :)

Dean's "watch out for monsters" is a nod to a classic Twilight Zone episode, _The Monsters are Due on Maple Street_.

Tommy Shaw was with the rock group _Styx_


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry it took so long to update. I've been crazy busy.

This chapter has lots of exposition. Sorry 'bout that. I am getting somewhere with it though, I promise. Please let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing, yada yada

* * *

Part 4

_No colors anymore, I want them to turn black_

Sam watched Dean drive off and turned back to the house with a frustrated sigh. On one level, he understood why his brother was acting this way. Dean had never been a "caring and sharing" type and preferred to put on the macho act to cover up his feelings. Lessons learned from the age of four, no doubt, but sometimes Sam just wished he could get Dean to _talk_ to him, _tell_ him what Sam himself wanted, no, _needed_ to hear. He needed to know Dean gave a damn about himself, cared about something other than fulfilling his role of Sam's protector.

_And Hell might freeze over_.

Sam walked up the driveway to the Wallace residence, a small ranch-style house that looked out of place in a down of decaying Victorian-era relics. He had reached the front door and raised his hand to knock when the door swung open. A petite red-haired woman rushed out and almost ran straight into him before she noticed his presence and quickly stepped back with a startled yelp.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, staring up and him with an irritated expression in her hazel eyes.

"Sorry to bother you, ma'am," he began.

"I'm not interesting in buying anything, volunteering, or hearing about your religion," she growled.

"No, nothing like that," he stammered as he pulled out his wallet and flashed his FBI badge. "I'm Special Agent Walsh, and I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"About what? Is it Keith? Have you found that worthless bastard?"

"No, actually, I'm looking into the disappearance of your daughter, Krista."

The woman's eyes flashed in anger.

"A little late, aren't you?"

"We, uh, we're looking at some of our cold cases, hoping to gain some new information."

"I _gave_ you information but no one listened. My worthless bastard of a husband took off five years ago, no word, nothing, until a year later when he apparently decided to come back and snatch Krista. I told the sheriff, told another FBI guy who came through, but the sheriff had convinced himself that she just 'ran away', and the FBI guy wasn't any better. I mean, seriously, what the Hell? Does your IQ drop as soon as you get a badge?" Sam could almost see the waves of anger radiating off this woman. He took a deep breath before trying to placate her.

"I'm sorry, ma'am really, I am, but I promise, I'm not like that. I'm really trying to help."

"You really want to help? Find Keith. Find him and you'll find Krista. God knows I've tried, but it's like they've disappeared off the face of the Earth! I gave you all I had, now use it! You and the rest of your law enforcement buddies can make yourselves useful for once. Now, if you'll excuse me," she said, brushing past him and walking quickly to her car, "I'm going to be late for work." She climbed into her car, started it and backed out of the driveway with a screech of tires. Sam watched her drive off as several questions passed through his mind.

_Is she right? Is this just a normal case of parental kidnapping? Or is it really part of our case?_ He looked at house for a few moments before an idea arose in his mind.

_Only one way to find out._

He quickly glanced around at the surrounding houses for witnesses, but the street was silent. Cautiously, he made his way around the house, stopping to check each window. At the back of the house, on the third window, he found what he was looking for. He pulled out his cell phone and checked the picture he had taken earlier for comparison. The symbol carved into the window of the Wallace house matched it exactly. This was their case after all…

* * *

The reaction to Sam's arrival at the next house couldn't have been more different. Miriam Schneider, a tall, large-boned woman with graying brown hair, had answered his knock at the door with a cautious greeting and upon hearing the reason for his visit, she had warmly welcomed in to her home. Now, after listening to her chatter for nearly an hour while she served him coffee and cake, unable to get more than two words in edgewise, he was truly anxious to get to the heart of the matter. Time was running out, in more ways than one.

"Mrs. Schneider--."

"Please, call me Miriam."

"Miriam, about your daughter's disappearance--."

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry, I went off on another tangent. It's a bad habit I've had since…well, a while. What did you need to know? Anything I can do to help, I will." Sam gritted his teeth in frustration. He finally broke through her babbling.

"Did you notice anything strange before she disappeared? Anyone watching the house or your daughter?"

"No, no, I didn't notice anything like that, and I think I should have, I was always more cautious after Freemont was killed. Such a terrible thing! You wouldn't expect it in a small town like this, but you never know. My mother always said--."

"Freemont?"

"My husband, God rest his soul. A more wonderful man never walked the earth. He…"

"I'm sorry to have to ask this, but how--?"

"Oh, it was horrible! A hit and run. Apparently his car broke down and he was walking to the gas station when…" For the first time, the woman's voice faltered. She was silent for a moment while Sam shifted uncomfortably in his chair, sorry he had dragged up the obviously painful subject. He gave her his most sympathetic expression and soon Miriam recovered and continued her narrative.

"Well, anyway, they never found out who it was. The sheriff checked every single car in town and the neighboring towns, but he didn't find anything. It must have just been someone passing through, probably drunk and never realized what he did. I mean, really, how could someone just do something like that and not try to help?"

"I--."

"Liesel was absolutely devastated. The sheriff thinks that might have been why she eventually ran away, but it really doesn't make sense to me. She was even closer to me after that. All we had was each other, you know, so why--?"

"What made the sheriff think she ran away?" Sam interrupted, trying to keep his tone even.

"Well, he said he didn't find any evidence that anyone else had been in the room, and believe me, he went over the place with a fine-tooth comb."

"Have you, uh, made any changes to her room since she disappeared?"

"Mercy, no! I couldn't bear to. You know, I've always had this feeling that she might come back. Silly, I know, after all this time, but--."

"May I see it? Sometimes we can look at a person's and get an idea of their state of mind. Maybe I can figure out if, er, _why_ she might have run away."

"Oh, of course, then. Please, follow me." She continued to talk as they descended the stairs, but Sam didn't bother to follow the one-sided conversation. When they reached the room, Miriam opened the door for him and he stepped through. Liesel's room was similar to Bethany's: full of the reminders than an eight-year old girl had lived there.

Miriam was uncharacteristically silent as she stood at the doorway to her daughter's room, and Sam was (with a twinge of guilt) grateful for the break. After making a slow circuit of the room, he made his way over to the window and opened it. Carved into the sill was the now familiar symbol.

_Yahtzee_.

He carefully closed the window and turned to face Miriam, trying to think of the gentlest way to break the news.

"I…don't see anything that would indicate your daughter left on her own accord. I'm sorry, I wish I could tell you more…"

"It's OK. I didn't really expect…well, it's been so long. I just…I just want to know that she's…in a good place, I guess. I've prayed everyday, just for something to tell me what happened, that I could…say goodbye. I…sorry, I'm babbling again," she said, her voice cracking on the final words.

Sam put a gentle hand on her shoulder, relaying as much sympathy as he could in his expression while his stomach churned in anguish. He understood her more than he would ever admit.

"Thank you, Miriam. You've been very helpful. I wish I could stay longer, but I need to interview a couple more people." She looked up at him with a teary smile.

"No, thank you. You're trying to help. We need more people like you, Agent Walsh. If someone like you had listened earlier, then maybe…"

"Maybe what?" She sighed.

"I had a friend…we became friends because of what we had in common, you see. She lost her family, too, and…she didn't handle it well at all. I just think if someone had listened, someone had tried to help, she wouldn't have…" Sam felt a twist in his gut. He had a good idea where this was headed.

"What was her name?" he asked in a low voice.

"Annette. Annette Lawson."

_Damn_.

"Mia Lawson's mother," Sam said, almost to himself.

_Someone I couldn't save. Damn, damn, DAMN!_

"Yes. Her husband disappeared about a year before Mia did. So many people tried to tell her he ran off and came back to take Mia, or that Mia ran away, just like they told me about Liesel. Annette never believed it. She said her husband loved them both too much to ever do such a thing. I guess she was right. A couple of months ago, they found her husband's body…well, his bones. Annette told me, she said 'if that _is_ Nick, then my family is really gone.' I read in the paper that they had identified him, and when I went over to see Annette, to check up on her, I saw the police were already there. The sheriff told me…" Miriam fell silent, tears coursing down her cheeks. Sam nodded and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," he said, his words sounding hollow in his own mind. "Will you be OK? Is there someone I can call for you?"

"No…no. I'll be fine. Just…just find out what happened. Please."

"That's why I'm here, Miriam."

_That's why I'm here._

Sam flipped the collar of his coat up against the cold and made his way to the last address on his list, going over the information he had gathered in his mind.

_Four girls, all eight years old, gone without a trace. Their fathers are dead or missing, too. Surely that can't be a coincidence. And that symbol… I know I've seen it before…_

Soon he reached the house, a two-story brick structure that appeared to be well cared for. He rang the doorbell and stepped back to wait. After several minutes of silence, he tried again, ringing the bell and knocking loudly.

"Mrs. Martin? Jane Martin?" he called after the last round of knocks.

"She's at work." He spun around and saw an elderly woman peering over the fence from the neighboring yard. The woman regarded him with suspicion.

"Do you know when she will be back, ma'am? It's important that I speak with her." He flashed the badge and the woman's gaze widened.

"Is something wrong?"

"No ma'am, I just need to ask a couple of questions."

"Oh, well, OK. She probably won't be home until 9 or so. She works late most of the time."

"Is there another family member I could talk to sooner?"

"No, I don't think Vic will be home until late, either. I'll tell them you stopped by, though."

"Thank you," he said, with little enthusiasm, and started walking back toward the town center. Tonight was too late. He and Dean would already need a solid plan by then. They'd have to do it with the information he'd already gathered. He just hoped Dean had fared better.

* * *

Dean awoke in darkness. With a gasp, he tried to sit up, immediately regretting it. The sudden movement awakened the screaming pain throughout his body, and he clenched his teeth to keep from groaning. When the pain had subsided to a dull throb, he opened his eyes again, hoping to clear away the darkness of before but the world remained pitch black.

_Damn it. Where the Hell am I?_

He tried to prop himself up to a sitting position, but the pain reawakened and he sank back to the ground. His hands felt as if they were on fire, and when he cautiously raised one to his face, he could feel the damp stickiness, smell the metallic odor of his blood. Suddenly he remembered: the black cloud, being dragged, the struggle to save himself, and then falling into blackness. Panic threatened to overwhelm him as he tried to stay rational, fighting his inner voice of doubt and fear.

_Stay calm…stay calm…this can't be Hell, it's too early..._

_Demons lie…you screwed up somehow…and now…_

_No…this isn't it. If I were dead, would I be able to feel, to smell blood?_

_It's a prison, of flesh, and bone, and blood, and fear…_

_No…NO!_

A faint, far off noise caught his attention, and he squashed his panic, listening intently, trying to discern what he heard. As the sound slowly increased in volume, he thought he heard…

_Is that…_singing?

The tune was vaguely familiar, and with a start he realized he recognized it.

"_Risseldy, Rosseldy,  
Hey bambassity,  
Nickety, nackety,  
Retrical quality,  
Willowby, wallowby,  
Mow, mow, mow."_

Dean almost laughed.

_As if it couldn't get any worse, on top of everything else, now I'm stuck in the middle of a Hitchcock movie._

He listened intently, trying to figure what direction the noise was coming from. As the singing came closer, he tensed, waiting to see the source of the sound.

"_She swept the floor  
But once a year,  
Risseldy, rosseldy,  
Mow, mow, mow,  
She swore her broom  
Was much to dear—."_

The singing was broken by a gasp of surprise, followed by dead silence. Dean held his breath, straining to hear the movements of whatever had made that noise. After what seemed like an eternity, he was about to release the pent up air in his lungs when something cold and soft brushed his forehead. He flinched away from the touch, his startled cry immediately echoed by a chorus of shrieks._  
_"He moved!"

"He's alive!"

"Get back!"

"Don't touch him!"

Dean collapsed against the wall, almost laughing with relief. Kids. A bunch of kids had found him. Sammy would never let him hear the end of this.

Suddenly a horrible realization struck him.

_They can see me, but I can't see them. Ah, damn it!_ His laughter died instantly.

The silence was broken by a voice, high pitched and young.

"Hey mister, are you OK?"

_No, I'm pretty freaking far from OK._

He heard the voice again.

"Lees, go find Emmy. She'll know what to do." He was pretty sure it was a little girl.

A different voice answered, another girl.

"No, I'll go. You three stay here, watch him, but don't get too close. We don't know if he's safe." Dean thought he heard a rustle of fabric as the owner of the second voice left to get "Emmy". The three remaining kids waited in silence for a couple of minutes before starting a hushed conversation.

"How do you think he got here?"

"No idea."

"He's really beat up. What do you think happened?"

"I can hear you," groaned Dean.

"Well then why didn't you answer before?" asked one of them.

"Lees, hush!" Dean heard a slight movement as one of the kids settled down next to him. "Are you OK, mister? Where do you hurt?" It was the first girl he had heard. Dean chuckled faintly.

"Everywhere…"

"What happened?" the girl called "Lees" asked.

"I don't…really know," he admitted truthfully.

"You'll be OK. Emmy will be here soon, she'll know what to do," another voice assured him.

_I_ _don't suppose Emmy is a really hot EMT or anything_, thought Dean. _Nah, I'm not that lucky…_

"What's your name?" asked the girl sitting next to him.

"Dean. Dean Winchester. And yours?"

"I'm Bethany. Bethany Miller."

* * *

A/N:The chapter title is from Paint it Black, by The Rolling Stones.

The song the girls are singing is "Risseldy Roseldy, an American version of an old Scottish folk tune. It was the song the schoolchildren were singing in the Alfred Hitchcock classic _The Birds_.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing, yada yada

Thanks to all who have read and reviewed this story. It is greatly appreciated.

I attempted to add a bit of comic relief, but I don't think it worked. Please let me know what you think.

* * *

Part 5

_Lull'd by the moonlight have all pass'd away_

Sam sat in the back booth of Mossy Oak's only diner, his laptop open on the table in front of him, searching the Web for more information on their case. He had checked into the girls' families further, and found that the fathers had all died or disappeared one year before their daughters, also on the night of the new moon. He had searched the lore for something that followed that type of pattern but so far he had turned up nothing.

Sam had moved on to research the symbol he had found on the window sill of three of the houses, and he was absorbed in a website that listed the uses of ancient runes when he heard someone slide into the other side of the booth.

"About time," he said, not bothering to look up from the laptop screen. "I thought you were going to call."

"Well, I would have, but you didn't leave your number." Startled, he looked up from the screen into the flat grey eyes of a young woman. She appeared to be in her late teens and completely normal except for her bobbed, dark-purplish-blue hair. Sam quickly shut the laptop as he tried to recover his composure.

"I'm sorry, but who--?"

"You're that FBI guy, right? I heard you wanted to speak to my mother."

"Your mother--?"

"Jane Martin. You were at our house earlier today. Mrs. Simmons told me. I'm Vic. Victoria Martin."

"Oh, yes, of course. Special Agent Sam Walsh." He held out his hand, but she ignored it.

"Why did you want to speak to my mother, Agent Walsh?"

"My partner and I are working on trying to clear some cold cases, and we--."

"You want to know about my sister, Elizabeth." A new expression crossed her face, one Sam couldn't quite read.

"Yes. We understand she disappeared about ten years ago under mysterious circumstances, and we are trying to collect as much information as we can."

"I see." She lean back in her seat and stared at him with a guarded expression for a few moments before responding.

"I'm not sure what my mother could tell you. I doubt she knows anymore now than she did ten years ago. She's put it all behind her by now, anyway, and I'd really rather you didn't bring it up with her again." Sam nodded and decided to try a different route.

"What about you? Do you remember anything--?"

"Hardly. I was only eight years old at the time. Spent several years in therapy trying to forget, and I guess it did its' job." Something underneath the bitterness in her tone convinced Sam he wasn't getting the whole story. As he reviewed her words, a detail caught his attention, and something that had been nagging at the edges of his mind seemed suddenly important.

"Your sister was older, twelve when she disappeared, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

_Twelve instead of eight. It doesn't fit the pattern. Unless…unless the pattern was established with the _second_ disappearance_. _And the first was the cause…_

Sam was about to ask her another question when something caught his eye and he froze. _Oh great. That's the LAST thing I need._

A tall, gangly, craggy-faced man in a law enforcement uniform was making his way over to their table. He stopped next to the girl and put one large work-worn hand on her shoulder. She flinched and looked up at the man who was smiling down at her.

"Everything OK, Victoria?" She glanced at Sam, who was desperately trying to remain calm. A puzzled expression flitted across her face, eyes narrowing as she started at Sam for a second before looking up at the man and responding.

"Fine, Sheriff. Everything's fine."

"Not working tonight?"

"Nope. I have a big test tomorrow."

"Who's your friend?" he asked, looking at Sam and giving him the once-over.

"Sam Walsh. He's…he is helping me to prepare for the test."

"Study Buddy, huh? You look a little old to be a college student. Kinda dressy for one, too." The Sheriff's tone remained amiable, but Sam was not fooled. He was being catalogued, filed away for future reference if something happened.

"Sam's a part time student and working full time. Used car salesman." She briefly turned to Sam and gave him a sweet smile, but the expression in her eyes was far from friendly. "He's got a line a bullshit that just knocks 'em dead." The Sheriff chuckled.

"I'll keep that in mind. Nice to meet you, Sam. I trust you're aware of the curfew?"

"Uh…curfew?"

"Sam will be leaving way before then. And don't worry, I'll be home studying."

"That's good. Well, I guess I better head off. Patrol duty, you know. And Victoria, one more thing?" He took his hand off her shoulder and lifted it up to ruffle her hair. "Lay off the blueberries." He chuckled, turned, and ambled away. Vic's smile remained until the Sheriff had left but it vanished as soon as she turned back to Sam.

"Asshole," she muttered, running her fingers through her hair to smooth it back down. Sam gave a small sigh of relief before he noticed that she was glaring at him with an openly hostile expression.

"OK, buddy, here's the deal: I know you're no FBI agent, you were completely freaked out when the Sheriff showed up. If you don't tell me right now why you're really here, I'm going to start screaming." She jerked her thumb back towards a group of men a couple of booths away. "The Good Ol' Boys club there will take you down so fast you won't even know what hit you. Now spill."

"All right…all right. I really am here to get more information about your sister's case. I'm interested in it because there have been other disappearances here that were similar. They follow a pattern, and my brother and I, we…investigate that sort of thing."

"Investigate? Like reporters?"

"No, we're not reporters--."

"Private detectives?"

"No, it's..." Sam lowered his voice. "We look for things that most people don't even know exist. Look, I know it's hard to believe, but there really is something strange going on here, and we're here to stop it." Vic sat back in the booth and stared at him.

"Strange…like, X-Files strange?" Sam chuckled dryly.

"Something like that."

"And you really think you can help? You and your brother?"

"Yes, we do." After a few moments of awkward silence, she laughed.

"Ah, what the Hell. Everyone thinks I'm crazy anyway, I might as well have some company. What do you need to know?"

"What do you remember?"

"Not much. I remember it was during our Christmas break. We had watched some old black and white horror movie…I don't even remember which one. After we went to bed that night, I got scared and snuck into my sister's room to sleep. She…grumbled a little but let me stay. I guess some time in the middle of the night, she got tired of…well she always said I moved too much when I was asleep, so I guess she got tired of it and went to my room. Next thing I remember I woke up when my mother started screaming…she couldn't find Elizabeth anywhere…and the window in my room was open." Vic shrugged. "That's about it. Well, no, the Sheriff came out and checked but he couldn't find anything. The idiot said she must have run away." She snorted in disgust. "As if. She wouldn't have done something like that." Sam nodded in sympathy. The story was now way too familiar.

"And after?"

"Nothing. We put out flyers, our neighbors helped search. Just…nothing."

"What did your parents think?"

"My father died about a year before this all happened. My mother…Sorry, I'd really rather not talk about that. Let's just say it's not something we've discussed for a long time."

Sam pulled out his cell phone and showed her the picture he had taken at the Miller house.

"Have you ever seen this before?" Vic's eyes widened when she saw the image.

"Where did you get that?"

"I found it carved into the windowsill outside a missing girl's bedroom. There are at least two more like it on the houses of other missing girls."

"Three. There was one on my window, after Elizabeth disappeared." She drew in a shuddering breath. "So you've found something that connects them. Do you know why?"

"Not yet, but we've established a pattern to these disappearances."  
"Do you think it's going to happen again?" Sam nodded.

"Tonight."

"Can you stop it?"

"We're going to try."

* * *

Vic guided her car into the space next to the Impala while Sam tried Dean's cell again. When he got the voicemail, he snapped the phone shut with a mixture of worry and annoyance crossing his mind.

"No answer? Maybe he fell asleep?" Vic suggested.

"Dean doesn't sleep that soundly." Sam said as he opened the door and unfolded his long frame from the passenger seat of Vic's Gremlin with a grimace. If Dean saw him in that monstrosity, Sam would never hear the end of it. He marched up to the door in front of the Impala and banged on the cheap scarred wood.

"Dean! Open up, man." No response. "Dean!"

"He's not in there." Sam spun around to find an angular, middle aged woman with thin greasy graying hair staring at him with contempt, a half burned cigarette hanging from one corner of her mouth.

"Do you know where he went?" Sam asked as he flashed his FBI badge. The woman's heavy-lidded eyes widened in surprise.

"Saw him take off a few hours ago, walking down the road towards the old Dillon farm, carrying a satchel. He in trouble?"

"No, we're working together. Where is this Dillon farm?" She pointed toward the road heading out of town.

"'bout a quarter mile up the road on the right. Spooky damn place."

"Thanks." She huffed and strode back to the office, slamming the door behind her.

"Need a lift?" asked Vic. "Getting cold out, and I can get you there faster." Sam heard the plea in her voice: _Don't leave me out of this_.

"Thanks." He climbed back in her car and shut the door. "But when we get there, you're staying in the car."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Civilian needs to stay out of harm's way. Whatever." She pulled out of the parking lot, spinning gravel on her way down the road.

When the reached the farm she pulled over onto the shoulder and killed the engine. The field in front of the burned out buildings appeared to be empty.

"Why would he come out here?"

"Not sure. He must have found something out while he was at the library. Wait here."

Sam climbed out of the car and started making his way through the tangled weeds to the buildings, keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. When he reached the house, he called out for Dean, but the area remained silent. On a hunch, he pulled out his cell and dialed Dean's number. The silence was broken by the distinctive chords of Dean's ring tone. Sam followed the sound until something on the ground caught his attention: it was Dean's duffel.

"Dean!" he yelled, looking around for his brother. On gut instinct, he grabbed one of the sawed-offs from the bag, along with a bottle of holy water, and dialed Dean's number once more as he swung the bag over his shoulder. The sound grew louder as he moved toward one of the burned-out foundations, and as the ring cut off he spied the phone lying open on the ground in a patch of flattened grass.

_Oh damn it…_

"DEAN!"

He noticed a swatch of flattened weeds and followed it, gun raised at the ready as he walked. Suddenly he saw something that caused him to freeze in mid-step. He bent down and touched the darkened stain, his fingers coming away red.

_No! Nonononono!_

He saw more stains on clumps of weeds, clumps with dirt clinging to their roots. After a few more feet, a glint of metal caught his eye and he bent down to retrieve it: Dean's gun. Sam stood up and bellowed, all his fear and anguish concentrated into one word:

"DEAN!!"

Suddenly, as the echo of his cry died away, another scream broke the silence.

"SAM! LOOK OUT!"

He spun around and his heart slammed into his throat. A rolling, roiling black cloud was approaching at a staggering speed. He raised the shotgun and sent a barrel of rock salt into the center of its' mass, causing it to shriek and fall back. With a burst of speed brought on by sheer fury, Sam ran at it and threw the holy water as hard as he could, shouting the exorcism ritual he had memorized.

Nothing happened.

Sam froze in shock as the thing collected itself and surged toward him again. He let it have the other barrel of rock salt, turned, and ran. By the time he reached the car, Vic had the passenger door open and he practically dove into the car and slammed the door as she took off in a cloud of dust. He looked back at the field in time to see the thing stop at the edge of the road where it hung for a minute before retreating back to the woods. He glanced over at Vic, her knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel as she fought to keep the car on the road.

"What. The Hell. Was THAT?!" she managed to gasp.

Sam didn't answer. His mind was too preoccupied with a single thought.

_Dean…_

* * *

"_I'm Bethany. Bethany Miller._"

Dean froze. It was quite honestly the last thing he expected to hear. Before he could form a coherent question, another of the girls spoke.

"I'm Krista. Krista Wallace. Everyone here calls me Kris."

_Oh crap…_

"And I'm Liesel Schneider," added the third girl. "They call me Lees."

"How…how many of you are there?"

"Five," said Lees. "Us three, Mia Lawson, she was here earlier, and Emmy. I don't know Emmy's last name. She just told us to call her Emmy."

_Gotta find out what happened here…_

"Uh, OK…and where is 'here', exactly?"

Dean's question was met with silence.

_Ah great, apparently that was the wrong question to ask. You're doing just peachy…_

Finally Kris spoke.

"We don't exactly know. It's just part of the Caverns. We find new places all the time."

"The Caverns?"

"Well, that's what we call it. It has the stuff you see in caverns, you know? Stalagites?"

"_Stalactites_," Lees corrected. "Or stalagmites. I forget which is which."

"It's a really cool place, though," added Bethany. "The whole thing, I mean here is kinda boring, but the rest of it is cool."

"I'll take your word for it." _You need to find out what happened to them without freaking them out. Think, Dean. _

"How…I mean, do you know how you got here?" _Or what brought you here?_

"Not really. I remember Emmy and Mia finding me, but that's it. They didn't know how I got here, either." Lees sounded puzzled, as if she hadn't really thought about it before.

"How did _you_ get here?" asked Bethany. Dean tried to make it sound as innocuous as possible. He didn't really know what would set them off, but he figured if they did lose control it wouldn't be pretty.

"I…don't know. I remember falling…"

"Oh, like Alice, down the rabbit hole! See guys, I told you, it was magic!" Bethany sounded quite delighted with the idea. One of the other girls snorted in disgust.

"Sure you did."

"Shut up, Krista. It's better than your idea. She thinks it was _aliens_," Bethany confided to Dean in a stage whisper. He choked back a laugh. _Bobby would love this…_

"You're both wrong," said Lees, lowering her voice. "_We've entered another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind. That's the signpost up ahead - next stop--_."

"Lees, will you please shut UP!" chorused Kris and Bethany.

This time he couldn't help it. In spite of himself, Dean let out a bark of laughter which he immediately regretted. The pain that flared up through his chest brought the seriousness of his situation back to the front of his mind as he groaned in agony.

The girls stopped bickering at once. After a few moments of silence, he felt a cold, soft hand against his forehead.

"Hey. Are you OK?" Bethany asked in a quiet voice.

"I've been better," Dean managed to grind out through clenched teeth.

"Just wait for Emmy to get here. She'll help you. She helped me," Bethany whispered.

"What…do you mean?"

"When I first got here, I hurt a lot. Like you're hurting I guess. You can't see, can you?" Dean felt a twisting sensation in the pit of his stomach.

"No…"

"I couldn't either. But then Emmy found me. She stayed and talked me to sleep. When I woke up, everything was better, and I could see. So just wait. I'm sure she can help you, too."

_Oh, God…_

"Bethany…I need to get out of here. I can help you all if I can get out. I promise I'll help you…"

"There is no way out, Dean. We've tried, but we can't find one." She patted his hand. "You just need to wait for Emmy."

Dean fought down the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. He closed his unseeing eyes and tried to block everything out.

_I am so screwed…_

* * *

A/N: Chapter title is from _Beautiful Dreamer_ by Stephen Foster

Lees' smart-ass routine was inspired by the Rod Serling's monologues in the opening sequence of _The Twilight Zone_ (classic TV series, not the movie)

Y'all will meet Emmy in the next chapter ;)


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry this took so long. I'm working on a very large real world writing project (but it's boring and I needed a break).

Thanks again to all of you who left reviews. They are always appreciated.

Disclaimer: don't own, just playing , yada yada

* * *

Part 6

_Here but now they're gone_

"We have to go back."

Vic slammed on the brakes and guided the Gremlin to a screeching, shaky halt as Sam flung out his arm to brace himself against the dashboard.

"What?!" Vic stared at Sam, her eyes widening in disbelief. "You get chased by the freaking _Lost_ Smoke Monster on crack, and you want to go back there? Are you nuts?!"

"Look, I have to find out what happened, and I need to find my brother. I need…" _I need to know why he went there in the first place_. "We need to get to the library."

"Wait, what?" Sam took in Vic's confused and frightened expression and realized the only way to get her cooperation was to push aside his own fears and stay calm.

"While I was in town doing interviews, he went to the library to see if he could find anything in the archives. I need to know what he found so I can get an idea on what we're dealing with. If I can figure that out, I might…I should be able to find out what happened to him." _I hope…_

"But why—?"

"Just trust me. Please." Vic stared at him for a moment before briefly shaking her head.

"I must be out of my freaking mind. Alright, I'll take you to the library, but I'm NOT going by that place again. I'm taking the back way into town."

"That's fine, but please: just get us there as fast as you can." _Time's running out for Dean if it hasn't already. Oh God, I can't…_ "Just hurry." After shooting one more wide-eyed glare at Sam, Vic pulled the car back onto the road. They rode in silence for several minutes before she slowed the car in preparation for a turn and finally asked what she had been wondering since they left the field.

"What was that thing?" She quickly glanced at Sam, who was staring out the windshield, a pinched and worried expression on his face.

"I'm not sure. It wasn't a demon," Sam said softly, almost to himself

"Oh, that makes me feel SO much better!" Vic growled as she guided the car onto a narrow dirt road. Sam shot her a dirty look. "Uh, how do you know?"

"Holy water didn't stop it. The exorcism didn't faze it."

"Uh, seriously? Holy water? Exorcisms?" Sam merely nodded, his mind on his missing brother.

"You were serious, before, about the 'most people don't believe' stuff? The whole 'the truth is out there', is _really_ out there?" Sam huffed in annoyance.

"You saw for yourself."

"Yeah, but…damn." She slowed the car again and turned onto a gravel road. After making the turn, she focused her attention back on Sam.

"So, if it wasn't a demon, then…?"

"A spirit, maybe. I don't know. It wasn't like anything I've seen before." _Why did you go after it alone, Dean? Damn it…_

"Oh."

She finished the drive in silence.

When they arrived at the library, Sam flung open the door of the Gremlin before Vic had even put it in park and dashed up the front steps. As he reached the entrance, the door swung open and a middle aged woman stepped through. She gasped in surprise when she almost ran into him.

"I'm sorry, sir but the library is closed for the day." Sam snatched his wallet out of his coat pocket and flipped it open. "FBI." The woman took a step back and stared up at him with a nervous expression.

"I…I see. How c-can I help you?"

"I'm looking for a man who might have come in earlier today. About 6'1", short brown hair, green eyes. He would have wanted to look at historical records." The woman's eyes lit up.

"Oh, _him_. The reporter." Her voiced faltered a little when she caught Sam's tense look. "Yes he was here, a few hours ago, but he didn't look at any of our materials. Did he--?"

"Did he talk to anyone while he was here?"

"Uh, just Mr. Bransen, our local historian." Sam heard a gasp behind him and glanced back to see that Vic had ascended the steps as well.

"Victoria?" Sam turned back to the woman and saw that she was now staring at Vic with a startled expression on her face. "What's going on? Why are you--?"

"Do you know what they talked about?" broke in Sam, his voice tinged with impatience and anger. The woman looked up at him, confusion in her eyes.

"I…I don't really know. That man, the reporter, he said he wanted information on local legends, and I told him that Jed…Mr. Bransen was our best resource. I introduced them and left them alone. They didn't talk for very long, though, come to think of it…"

"Where can I find this Jed Bransen?" The woman's gaze shift between Vic and Sam as she hesitated.

"I…don't think I should tell you…" Vic placed a hand on Sam's arm before he could give a response.

"It's OK, Edith. The man he's looking for is his brother. He's missing and…Agent Walsh is worried." She glanced up at Sam. "I'll help him find, uh, Mr. Bransen. Sorry to disturb you, Edith."

"That's quite all right, Victoria. I hope you find him, Agent Walsh." Vic turned and headed back down the steps.

"Let's go, _Agent_ Walsh." Sam glared at her retreating back before turning back to Edith with as calm of an expression as he could muster.

"Thank you for your time, ma'am," he ground out before turning to follow Vic, leaving the dazed Edith behind.

When they had both climbed into the car, Vic turned to Sam.

"I'll take you to his house, but here's the thing: you go in there all 'great vengeance and furious anger' and you won't get a damn thing out of him. Trust me, OK? I want to help, but you…you need to calm down. Look, I know how you must feel."

"Do you?" Vic narrowed her eyes and glared at Sam.

"Yeah, I do. Sibling gone missing? Been there, done that." Sam slumped in his seat.

_God, I'm making this worse. It'll be my fault if…_

"OK. I'm sorry, I just…I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted. Fasten your seatbelt," she said as she backed out of the parking space and turned the car towards the western edge of town.

Jed Bransen's house was decidedly eccentric. The split log structure was nestled in a stand of pine trees, with various twisted metal pieces of what Sam assumed were modern sculpture scattered throughout the property. A large Amish hex sign adorned the front door and several more "sculptures" hung between the posts of the front porch.

Vic parked her car in the gravel driveway next to a large wrought iron post adorned with what appeared to be a dinner bell. As she exited the car, she grabbed the rope attached to the bell's clapper and gave it a swing so that it clanged loudly against the inside of the bell.

"What was that for?"

"Fair warning. He likes to know when someone pulls in so he can meet them at the door. One of his quirks."

When they reached the front door it swung open to reveal a tall, thin, elderly man with snow-white hair and faded blue eyes. He regarded Sam for a minute with an unreadable expression of his face before turning his gaze to Vic. He raised one eyebrow in surprise as he stared at her, as if waiting for an explanation. She stepped forward and cleared her throat.

"Grandpa, we need your help."

Without comment, Bransen turned and motioned for them to follow. Sam shot Vic a confused look before stepping into the house where they were led to a small study. After lowering himself onto the proffered sofa, Sam cleared his throat as he tried to remain calm.

"Mr. Bransen, I--."

"If I'm not mistaken, your name is Sam Winchester. You're a hunter, like your brother Dean. I met him earlier." Sam stared at the old man in shock.

"How--?"

"You can get the story from Dean. Now, what brings you here? I already told Dean what I know." Sam felt his control slipping.

"My brother is missing, Mr. Bransen. I need to know what you told him. I need to know why you sent him out to the Dillon Farm."

"I didn't _send_ him, boy. He chose to go on his own. I told him he wouldn't find anything out there. I never did."

"You checked?" interrupted Vic, the shock evident in her voice. "Why did you go out there? Why didn't you tell me--?"

"Because there was nothing to tell, Vic. Besides, you know your mother's rule--."

"I don't give a damn about her rules anymore!"

"Well I do," he said, silencing her outburst. He turned to Sam. "Tell me what happened."

"We went out to the field. The lady at the motel said she had seen him head over there, but I couldn't find him. I did find some of his things, and…" Sam quickly swallowed the lump rising in his throat. "Signs of a struggle. Then something came after me."

"Something. You saw it? You saw what took--?"

"I don't know what it was. Some sort of spirit, I think. I scared it off with salt. Holy water didn't work."

"So it's true. This is something evil out there…"

"Why didn't you warn my brother?" growled Sam, springing to his feet. "You just--."

"I _did_ warn him. He went anyway. He thought it was the best lead, well, the only lead he had. I had no idea what was out there."

"But you thought it was some_thing_, not some_one_ that was doing this?" Vic jumped in when she saw Sam hesitate. "Why didn't you say something?" Bransen sighed and responded in a low voice.

"Who would have believed me? Yes, I suspected. I had no proof. No hunter that came through could find anything, so I convinced myself I was wrong."

"Hunter? Is that what--?"

"Enough!" barked Sam. "This isn't helping anything."

"You yelling at everyone isn't helping either," she shot back.

"Stop it, all right, both of you. Sam, do you have any idea why this thing would be taking these kids?"

"Not yet."

"And you're not positive what it is? So you have no idea how to get rid of it."

"Not yet," he growled. "But I have an idea of how to track it down."

"Because it will strike tonight?"

"How did you…never mind. Yes, and now I have a good idea of the type of victim it wants."

"Yes, eight year old girls."

"Not all the time though, right?" Vic glanced back and forth between the two men. "I mean, my sister was twelve, and…_Oh, God_." She abruptly dropped into the chair, her face white. "It didn't want Elizabeth, did it? She was in _my_ room, and…"

"And it went to your room." Bransen sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders, trying to calm his shaking granddaughter. Sam stared at her sympathetically, understanding what she must be experiencing. Suddenly an idea occurred to him.

"Wait a minute. The symbol…" Sam dug his cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open to reveal the picture. "Maybe it's not left behind. Maybe it calls it." Bransen's eyes widened in surprise.

"Let me see that." Sam handed him the phone.

"I was looking it up online, trying to figure out what sort of creature would leave it behind…"

"But now you think whatever it is, it's being controlled." He looked at the picture. "I think you might be right. I've done quite a bit of research on so called 'non-western' religions. Call it a hobby. This is hoodoo."

"Hoodoo? Yes! I have seen it before. Damn it. It's a summoning sigil, isn't it?"

"The big question is," said Vic, raising her head from her hands, "whose window is it on for tonight?"

* * *

"You know, this is weird." The puzzled tone, as well as Kris' statement, roused Dean from his daze.

_Understatement._

"What's weird?" Lees asked.

"Him being here. I mean, we've never had a grown-up here before. Why did he show up now?"

"I saw a grown-up here before," said Lees. This caught Dean's attention.

"You did? Do you remember who it was?" he asked.

"No. I only saw him once, though. Some creepy old guy in a suit."

_Creepy old…oh crap_. "Was he pale, with a really wrinkled face?"

"Yes! That's him. How did you know? Have you seen him, too?"

"Hey! I've seen him. Now I remember," said Krista.

"Me, too!" chirped Bethany. "Right when I got here. I mentioned it to Emmy, but she said not to worry about it. It was probably just a dream I had before I woke up. Did you see him here, too Dean?"

"No. Not here…what did he do when you saw him?" He waited in the ensuing silence, wondering if they would or could answer.

"Well, I remember he was walking towards me, and then it was like he hit a divisible wall," murmured Kris.

"_Invisible_ wall, dork. And yeah, I saw the same thing," said Lees. "Weird. How about you, Bethany?"

"Same thing. Do you think he's the one who brought us all here, Dean?"

_If it did… Maybe someone is controlling it. Like Sue Ann. But why these kids?_

"No, not here. It was a long time ago. Long story."

"So tell us. It's not like we're going anywhere for awhile. We have to wait for Emmy."

_I hope that's not like waiting for Godot…Huh, Sam would never let me hear the end of it if…_ Suddenly the memory of how he wound up in the dark in the first place hit him and he felt a twist of guilt for not listening, for being careless, and for leaving his brother too soon.

_I'm sorry, Sammy…_

"Oh Lees, leave him alone. He probably doesn't feel like it right now," said Bethany. "But… you know Dean, it might give you something to think about besides you hurting."

_Thank you, Dr. Phil_.

"No, really, it's a long story, and…not one you all should really hear."

"Why, does it have sex in it?" asked Lees, sounding alert with curiosity.

"_LEES_!" screeched Kris. Bethany startled giggling. Dean himself was tempted to snort in amusement, but bit his lip and tried to remain as still as possible.

"What? My cousin always said that if a grown up said a story wasn't for kids, it had sex in it."

"Your cousin was a pervert," declared Kris.

"What's a pervert?"

This time Dean did laugh. He couldn't help it. It didn't hurt quite so bad this time, and he was surprised to discover that he actually grown a bit fond of these kids. _I wish I could help them. Maybe…_

"OK. I'll tell you the story." _An edited version_. "Give me a minute." He slowly tried to push himself into a sitting position but he still couldn't make it. Suddenly he felt three sets of hands on his arms, pushing and pulling in an effort to help. Finally he was able to sit up, his back slumped against a wall of some sort, shaking from the exertion.

_What the hell did that thing _do_ to me?_

"You OK?" Bethany's voice was now directly to his right.

"I'll…never mind. I'm good." He felt her settle against his arm. It was strangely comforting.

_Now let me see if I can figure out how to get these kids to move on. It's the least I can do before…_

He winced. He really didn't want the girls to see him taken. He had to get them out of here, for good.

_Dean Winchester: Ghost Whisperer. Go figure…_

* * *

She was waiting for a monster.

She had never seen it, this was true, but she had seen what it left behind, and she knew where it would be. Where it would come when it was ready: The Bad Place.

It was a place of pain, and fear, and death. It had been used for these many times, the evidence lay around her, and now she was going to stop it.

Somehow.

If she could just catch a glimpse of the monster, if she could just see what it was, know what it was, then she could stop it.

Come Hell or high water, she would stop it.

She had just missed it, before. She had been so close, but she was too late. She was too late, and another joined them because of it.

_No more_, she thought. _No more_.

She had protected the others so they would not know the pain or fear, but that was not enough. It had to stop.

She was waiting for the monster. She was sure it's time was almost near. She had kept track as best she could. It would be here, and she was ready to fight it.

Until she heard someone call her name.

"_Emmy_!"

She knew the voice, and she knew she had to leave. She wanted to wait for the monster, but she couldn't now. She was needed.

She left The Bad Place, easily climbing down and away until she reached a safer place. Here she waited for the one who needed her. She saw the one who needed her appear out of the semi-darkness of her world. With one last look of regret, she focused her attention on the one who had arrived.

"What's wrong, Mia?" she asked the girl who stood before her. The girl looked up at her with wide, frightened eyes.

"I think we have a problem."

* * *

A/N: Title is from (of course) _Don't Fear the Reaper_ by Blue Oyster Cult

I've never actually seen an episode of _Lost_, but the description seems to fit.


	7. Chapter 7

Yeah, I know it's been awhile. Sorry about that. This chapter has been sitting half finsihed on my computer for awhile. I think my muse decided she liked the weather in Florida and stayed there.

Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing, yada yada

* * *

Part 7

_If it wasn't for bad luck,  
I wouldn't have no luck at all_

"_The big question is," said Vic, raising her head from her hands, "whose window is it on for tonight?"_

"I think I know a way to find out," said Sam, trying to keep his voice calm, controlled.

"How? Are you going to check the house of every eight year old girl in town for the symbol? What if you're wrong?" asked Vic, thinly veiled panic in her voice.

"There is something else they all have in common. I'm sorry, but I need to ask you something. You mentioned that your father is dead."

What little color Vic had drained away as she stared at Sam, wide eyed.

"Y-yes."

"And it happened about a year before your sister disappeared, right? On the night of the new moon?" Vic didn't answer, but Bransen did.

"Yes. It was a…car accident. His car was struck by a train. They said it probably stalled on the tracks and he didn't make it out." Something in Bransen's tone set of Sam's warning bells.

"But you don't believe it?"

"No. James was overly cautious. He wouldn't have pulled onto the tracks if a train was anywhere near, and he would have had time to get out of the car otherwise."

"And now it all fits. All of the girls who disappeared had dead or missing fathers. I'd be willing to bet those men who were missing are dead, too. So we have a victim profile…"

"And we can use that information to find the next victim," Bransen finished. "Lucky for us, the class lists for each grade are published on the Board of Ed website. We'll check the third grade list. Second and fourth grade, too, just in case."

"Then we can check those names against the obituaries from last January and December," Sam said as his eyes lit up with faint hope. "We can find where it's going to strike next, and--."

"And what?" interrupted Vic. "Even if you know where it's going to be, you don't know how to keep it from taking the girl."

"No, but we could warn them, get them out of the house somehow until I take care of this thing."

"But how?"

"One thing at a time, kids," said Bransen. "We'll figure something out."

And hour later, after a thorough search of both sites, they had an answer. And it wasn't a good one.

"Three," said Sam, slumping down in his chair with a disgusted look on his face. "_Three_ likely candidates. And no idea which one it will be." He slammed his fist on the arm of the chair. "_Damn it!"_

"What if it is all three? I mean, all three fathers died at the same time, in the same crash," said Vic, her voice shaking slightly.

The two-car wreck that had claimed the lives of all three men had occurred on the night of the new moon. The cause of the accident was unknown, but it the official theory appeared to be that one of the cars had swerved to avoid a deer and had take out the other car, but the intensity of the crash had caused both cars to flip into a field, and the direction each had been driving could not be determined.

"Then I guess we convince all three families to leave town tonight," said Bransen. "Better safe than sorry."

"I don't even know how I can get one to leave," growled Sam. "What do I tell them? Gas main leak?"

"Won't work here. Besides, they live some distance from each other."

"Great. Maybe we should just set their houses on fire, that will get them out," Sam muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He caught the looks the other two were giving them and explained guiltily, "I was kidding." Bransen chuckled humorlessly.

"I don't think we'll have to resort to serial arson. I know one of the women, Michelle Perkins, very well; she's the daughter of an old friend. She's very likely to listen if I told her that _I_ had evidence something was going to happen to Melanie."

"She knows about your dowsing?" asked Vic, surprised. Sam shot her a curious look. "Dowsing?" Bransen gave him a look that clearly said _ask later_.

"Not everyone is as adverse to the idea of 'occult' as your mother, Vic. But I'm pretty sure she'll cooperate. I'll talk to her in person."

"Okay, but that still leaves two more. We're running out of options." He checked his watch. "And time. As far as I can tell, the girls disappeared around midnight. That's when the last victim's mother noticed her missing."

"So we need to get them out of the house soon, before the curfew, and until after midnight. Maybe we could, I don't know, tell them they're needed somewhere immediately. Somewhere that's several hours away where they could drive but it would take them a while to get back."

"Sounds like a good plan, Vic, but…wait, do either of the other two members have out of town family? We could send them off to a hospital somewhere. If they didn't have enough time to find someone to watch the girl, the mother would bring her along."

"I know Erica Wiseman," said Vic. "I baby sit Rachael for her. I think Erica's mother lives about three hours away. I could make sure she can't get a hold of me, and she'd have to take Rachael with her." For the first time since they had arrived, Vic sounded hopeful.

"That leaves Justine and Hannah Butler. What do we tell them?"

"They haven't lived here very long, so I don't know them. I'll see what I can find." Bransen returned to his computer and started searching. Sam got Erica Wiseman's number from Vic and made that call. Mrs. Wiseman's fear was evident, and Sam felt guilty for upsetting the poor woman so much, but consoled himself with the fact that her daughter would now be safe.

"I can't find anything," Bransen said at last. "I'm not sure we'll be able to get them to leave."

"Then I'll just have to wait by their house and hope I can get this thing if it shows up. I'll keep it away from the girl and try to find out what happened to Dean…"

"We should help. We can watch the other places and if it shows--."

"No. It's too dangerous. I'm not risking anyone else to this thing--."

"Are you willing to risk not catching it?" Bransen asked, his tone icy. "You damn fool hunters never admit when you need help. Lucky for you, I'm giving it anyway."

Sam glared at the older man, trying to come up with an argument against the plan, but he had to begrudgingly admit Bransen was right. This plan was way too important to screw up.

Dean's life depended on it.

* * *

"So where did you see the creepy old guy?" Lees asked, breaking Dean's train of thought as he tried to decide on the best way to start.

"I got hurt on a job. I was…well, I was dying." There was really no way to sugar-coat this. "My brother, Sammy, he took me too a faith healer, and uh, when the preacher healed me I saw the old man. No one else saw him, and at first I thought it was a spirit."

"A ghost? But there's no such thing as ghosts, is there?"

"Yes, Lees, there are such things as ghosts."

"But how do you know?"

"It kind of my job."

"You're a Ghostbuster?"

"Not exactly. Just trust me on this, OK?" After a moment of silence, Dean continued his narrative. "We found out it was a reaper. You see, the preacher's wife was controlling it, and using it to trade lives of people she hated with people who came to be healed. Reapers normally just take the souls of the dying, though. They're…well, not evil, just a natural part of death." _For most people_.

"What happens if the reaper doesn't take someone? They just stay alive?"

"I…"

"Well we're still around, and the reaper tried to take us but didn't. That must be it." Krista sounded quite relieved at the idea.

_This isn't going like I pictured…_

"What keeps a reaper from taking someone?" Bethany asked in a serious tone.

_That's a damn good question._

"I guess…something else keeps the reaper away."

"Like what?"

"Like…the person doesn't realize they have to go. Or they need to pass on a message. Or someone won't let them go."

"So you're saying that if someone doesn't go with the reaper, then they're--."

"Bethany! What are you doing?" The sudden interruption caused Dean to jerk in surprise, sending a fresh wave a pain through his body.  
"Mia, Dean was telling us—."

"I _told_ you not to get too close."

"But he's OK. He's not going to hurt us--."

"Bethany." A new voice pierced Dean's haze of pain. "You know the rules. All of you, step away." Dean heard a rustle of cloth as the three girls rose and he felt the weight against his arm move away, the loss more painful than he expected. The new arrival spoke again.

"Mia, take the rest to the cathedral and stay there."

"But Emmy--." The three girls chorused in protest.

"Now." Dean recognized that tone. It was one he had used countless times with Sam when they were kids, the "it's for your own good" not too subtly implied. He heard a collective sigh from the girls followed by mutters of protest that soon faded as the group left. Dean waited in silence, but "Emmy" said nothing. The silence stretched on for several minutes, and Dean might have thought she had left as well if it weren't for the creeping, prickly sensation that someone was watching him. His ears strained to detect the faintest sound of movement, as he had heard with the other girls, but there was nothing. He started to wonder if he had imagined the entire thing.

_What if this is all just--._

"Why are you here?" The voice, originating mere inches from his face, caused him to jerk back and smack his head against the stone wall behind him. He groaned as the shock of pain struck and he tried to respond.

"What…?"

"You don't belong here. You shouldn't be here. So why are you?"

"I…something dragged me down here. I don't know why."

"From where?"

"A field, near an old burned-down farmhouse."

"The old Dillon farm? I know the place. Why were you there?" Her tone had become harsher as her questions became more focused, and she seemed to be getting closer to him. He thought if he could actually see her they would be practically nose to nose.

"I was, uh, looking for something."

"What?"

"Something that…takes little girls away." Dean paused, on edge, waiting for a reaction.

"The Monster," she finally responded, sounding almost relieved. "I've been looking for it, too."

"You…what?"

"I was waiting, at the Bad Place. That's where it brings us... and leaves us." Her voice had dropped to almost a whisper.

"Wait…you know how you got here? Why don't--?"

"Why don't they remember? Mia does. I couldn't make her forget. But the others don't know. I…we didn't want them to remember. We couldn't let them know what it's like…I couldn't." Her voice suddenly sharpened in anger. "But you almost told them. Why would you do that? They don't need to know!"

Dean felt a sudden drop in temperature. _Oh crap_. He strained to keep his voice calm, steady.

"I was just trying to help--."

"How would that help them?"

"So they could…move on. They're stuck here, Emmy. It's not fair to them to keep them here. I thought if they knew what had happened, then they could leave. I was just trying to help them. That's all, I promise."

"You can't help. They can't leave." Her voice still held an edge of anger.

"Because you won't let them?" The statement slipped out before he could stop himself. _Great, I've done it now_. Dean waited for a greater manifestation of Emmy's anger, but instead he heard a squeak of surprise.

"You think _I'm_ keeping them here?"

"I--."

"But I'm not. When…when they were left here, and that…_reaper_ you were talking about showed up, I tried to get them to go. I had seen him, too, when I…but I couldn't go with him, either. I wanted to. I didn't want to stay, but he couldn't reach me. And then with Mia, I saw him again. I told her to go with him, but she couldn't either. All of them, before they…went to sleep, they saw him. I told them to follow him, but they stayed here. It's not my fault, I swear!"

"OK, OK, calm down. Please. I'm not blaming you, I just…alright. Something else is keeping you all here--."

"The Monster," Emmy offered, her voice slightly calmer.

"The Monster. What can you tell me about it? If I know more, I can help you. All of you," he said, sincerely hoping he was speaking the truth.

"I never really saw it. I just know it comes to the Bad Place. That's why I was waiting there. I was hoping if I could see it before…another one of us was left, then I could do something. I should go back. It might show up while I'm gone. I should--."

"Emmy! This is very important. Anything you remember? Anything at all?"

"I…I have the others' memories."

"What?"

"When I didn't want the others, well, all except Mia, to remember, I guess I took the memories from them. I don't really know how, but I did."

"Can you tell me what they remember?"

"No. I can't talk about it. I'm sorry…but…"

"But what?"

"I think I can show you."

"How?"

"When I took the memories from the others, it was like I was pulling the thoughts out of their heads. I think I might be able to do it in reverse. Then I can show you what they saw."

_Kind of like what Andy did to me so I could find Sam. God, I hope it doesn't hurt that much_.

Dean quietly braced himself. "All right, then. Show me." Suddenly he felt a cold hand on his forehead, followed by a wave of agony unlike any he had ever felt before, and the darkness gave way to a bright searing light.

* * *

A/N: chapter title is from Born Under a Bad Sign, by King Albert (the original blues song)


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